


Fifty Shades; New Beginnings

by BlackHawksChild, orphan_account



Series: Fifty Shades [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Before Joss Wheldon Betrayed Us, BlackHawk Origin Story, Explicit Language, F/M, Natasha Is Slightly Bipolar, Natasha Needs a Hug, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Joins SHIELD, No Laura Barton, Non-Canon Relationship, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Protective Clint Barton, S.T.R.I.K.E. Team Delta Origin Story, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:13:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3399830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHawksChild/pseuds/BlackHawksChild, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prequel to Fifty Shades Of Barton. Rated M for later chapters and explicit language.</p><p>Not Avengers: Age Of Ultron Compliant But Compliant With The Movies Before It. All trolling and flaming are reported and then ignored. So please, if you don't like what I write, don't read it. I didn't write it exclusively for one person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Different Call

**_21 st November 2004…._ **

**_Brussels, Belgium…_ **

“Sir, I have eyes on the target,” Agent Barton spoke calmly into the comm. link. He watched the young red-head escape down an alley-way. She was wearing a black dress which accented her curvy body. She looked like a goddess. Except with a rap sheet two mile long. The Russian assassin had just exited her apartment and made her way down to the hotel to meet her mark. Him.

 ** _“Copy that, Barton. Make your way to the meeting point. We want a clean kill with the Widow,”_** Coulson replied.

“Roger Coulson. On my way. Maintaining radio silence.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natalia made her way through the gala, her green eyes flickering over the crowd, searching for her mark. She made her way to the bar in hopes to find him there. She kept her eyes on the crowd as she ordered a Black Russian, keeping the stereotype to suit her alias.

Suddenly a young man stepped against the bar, ordering a neat Jameson whiskey. He was around five foot ten, spiky brown-blonde hair, stormy grey eyes. He was wearing an all-black suit and those geeky glasses that actually looked good on him. And he was her mark.

“Mr. le Bláca,” she greeted in her natural thick Russian accent, smiling at the young man. He was about twenty-four, six years older than herself. So the intel had been right.

“Miss….?” He replied, raising an eyebrow, his eyes mesmerised by hers.

“Miss Natalia Ivanova,” she replied, smiling shyly at the young American; his accent gave him away. “You can call me Natalia. So, what brings you to Brussels, Mr. le Bláca?”

“Then call me Ciarán,” he replied, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing the back of her hand softly. “Business, Miss Ivanova. My boss wants me to take out the competition.”

“You must be good at your job, Ciarán, to be sent alone,” the red-head purred, watching her mark carefully.

“I never miss, Natalia,” he replied, cocking his head to the side; she knew exactly who he was. “But I think you already know that. Don’t you, _Widow_?”

“It is an honour to be considered a target by Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division, _Hawkeye_.”

Suddenly, the red-head moved, surprising the archer at her quickness. By the time he could react, she was already half-way out the exit. He moved quickly, following his mark outside.

The fire alarm unexpectedly went off, sending the whole room into panic. Clint growled under his breath, ducking out the fire exit. He paused and looked over the crowd, trying to locate his mark. Finally, he headed towards his getaway car, figuring he better be armed with his preferred weapon if he was to take out the evasive _Black Widow_.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natalia watched as her mark – or was he her executioner? – quickly made his way towards a car. She hid behind the furthest vehicle, watching the archer as he moved. The info from the Red Room mole had been correct; he was almost as good as her.

The red-head groaned when she noticed her mark take out a case from the boot of his car; she’d been told he hadn’t brought his bow for this mission. She mapped out her different escape routes before choosing the one she felt would be the most appropriate. Turning, she took off her heels and took off down the alleyway towards her apartment, looking over her shoulder every now and again to check if her mark was following her.

Suddenly, she heard the quick thud of an arrow as it hit her shoulder. She let out a muffled scream, biting her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. She quickly broke the tip off the arrow before pulling the shaft out of her shoulder. She glanced up and spotted _Hawkeye_ just as he jumped down off a taller building onto a smaller one. “Shit,” she cursed, turning and running. She needed to get him on level ground. He had the advantage if there was distance between them.

She quickly made her way into the apartment block, biting back a groan at the pain through her shoulder. Natalia ducked as the door to her apartment blew up. “I thought it was your brother whose _Trickshot_!” she shouted, smirking smugly when she heard the archer growl in reply.

He jumped through the flames, bringing his bow down to hit her. She ducked and rolled, striking the archer with her foot as she moved. She had to move quickly against him, he was almost as agile as she was. She went to strike with her left hand but _Hawkeye_ was able to dodge her. Then she took out a knife she had hidden under the thigh slit of her dress.

She was able to nick him a few times, splitting his lip in the process. Her shoulder wound was slowing her down slightly. And her injury would give Comrade Shostakov, Comrade Alexandrov and Comrade Belova – not to mention Commissar Petrovitch – reason to punish her when she got back to Moscow.

They traded kicks and punches, the two young assassins matched. But she had the slight advantage of being three inches smaller than the American. She ran at the archer as he was about to roll out of the way, the red-head using his bent knee to push herself up to wrap her thighs around his neck. She flipped over his head, pulling him over with her. But he managed to duck his head and follow through with her. He used his weight to pin her down beneath him.

Natalia hissed up at the American, bucking her body beneath him as she tried to push him off of her. But when he pressed down on her wound, she growled and almost whimpered at the sensation.

Clint watched as the red-head squirmed underneath him. But he was focused on her eyes. They were dull, lifeless. The same way his eyes were. The way they still are. And what he saw was going to earn him months of paperwork. And hours of lectures from his handler and director.

“Do you want to stop running, Romanova?” he asked, surprising the red-head and stopping her movements.

She stilled her attempts to escape, her eyes narrowed in confusion. “Why? What’s in it for you, Agent Barton?”

Clint shrugged, watching her carefully. “Months of paperwork. Lectures from my bosses.”

“But why?” She was desperate to understand why he would want to help her.

“I don’t hurt victims,” he replied simply, watching the surprise cross over the red-head’s face. “Your eyes reflect the life of a victim. Not a willing murderer.”

“How would you know? You only know the basics of a _Black Widow_. Mostly based on information gained by the Strategic Scientific Reserve. Most of your info is outdated.”

“Your name is Natalia Alianova Romanova aka. _The Black Widow_. Real date of birth unknown but you were born in the year 1984. Place of birth; Stalingrad, USSR. Main spoken languages are Russian, English, Italian, Latin, German, French, Mandarin, Kashmiri and many others. You’re 5 foot seven inches and 135lbs. Parents unknown but presumed deceased. Still think our info is outdated?”

Natalia snarled as she hissed back. “Clinton ‘Clint’ Francis Barton, codename, _Hawkeye_. Born Waverly, Iowa, USA, 7 th January 1978. Level 7 Agent for Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Five foot ten inches, weighing 180lbs. Son of Harold and Edith Barton, died 1985. One brother, Charles ‘Barney’ Bernard Barton. Known spoken languages are English, Russian, Chinese and Arabic. So right back at you, _Hawkeye_.”

Clint leaned backwards but kept his hands around her wrists. “As I said, Miss Romanova, I don’t harm victims. But you’re also a survivor. So I’m giving you the chance for a new beginning. So what do you say?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Yes. From now on, you do….”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Natalia paused as she let _Hawkeye_ led her into his hotel room, the red-head's thoughts immediately went to thinking that the archer was just after a night of pleasure in exchange for saving her life. Sighing, she pulled her dress over her head, wincing at her shoulder injury. Barton had already entered the bathroom so she was grateful that he hadn't seen her small moment of weakness. Removing her bra proved to be just as painful but removing her other clothing was much easier.

Sitting on the bed, Natalia took a deep breath and closed her eyes, mentally preparing herself. She opened her eyes when she heard Barton re-enter the bedroom, the archer freezing on the spot when he realised that she was stark naked on the bed.

"Why are you naked?" Clint asked, surprising the red-head.

"Isn't this why you spared me?" she replied, gesturing to her body.

"... No..." Clint started as he held up the first aid box in his hands. "I spared you because I know what it's like to be alone," he explained, walking over to his bag and taking out a spare T-shirt.

"Are you gay or something?" Natalia asked, raising an eyebrow at the twenty-four-year-old as he handed her his spare shirt.

"Oh believe me, I'm not," he replied, keeping his eyes on her face as she put on the shirt. "You're possibly the most beautiful woman I'll ever have the honour of seeing. But women aren't just objects for men to satisfy their sexual needs. That's what porn is for."

Natalia's eyebrow arched further in genuine surprise. "Why don't you just take me to settle our debt? I, personally, hate the thought of owing anyone a debt."

"I didn't spare you so that you'd owe me a favour, Ms Romanova," the archer stated as he took a seat beside her and opened the first aid kit. Taking out all the items he would need, he turned to the red-head who was staring at him with a curious stare. "I do agree that not everyone in this life is forgiving. Kind. Caring. But there are people out there who believe in giving others second chances. There are people who genuinely give a shit. Not many, but there is."

Natalia kept still as the archer began to clean the several cuts on her face, gently applying the alcohol to the grazes. "Why?" she whispered as he cleaned her lip tenderly.

Clint frowned in thought but continued to clean her cuts. "Do you know what it's like to be hungry? To feel like the only one who cares is yourself?"

"Yes," she breathed, noticing the hurt and sorrowful look in the agent's stormy grey eyes; it was the same look she saw every time she looked in the mirror.

Clint smiled sadly at her admission. "So do I," was all he said in reply. Once he had cleaned all of her cuts, he paused as he gestured to her injured shoulder. "You'll need to pull the shirt to the side to clean out that shoulder," he stated matter-of-factly.

Natalia pulled the neckline down over her shoulder so Clint could clean out her shoulder. The red-head kept quiet as he began to stitch her wound close, his movements slow and graceful as he tied the knot on the stitch. Glancing down, she found the archer was quite a good nurse. Frowning as a thought struck her, she lifted her head to look at the agent as he put back the items into the kit. "Stop," she said, placing her hand on his wrist when he was putting away the alcohol and wipes. "Cleaning my cuts is definitely a favour I'm sure you won't mind me repaying," she explained, gesturing towards his own cuts.

Clint could only raise an eyebrow at the red-head, bemused. Handing her the items, he pulled his own shirt over his head. "Just don't touch me shoulders or my chest," he directed, earning a confused, raised eyebrow. "I have haphephobia," he explained, pointing at the visible scars on his chest. "My drunk, abusive father was a little too trigger-happy with broken bottles, belts and cigarette buds."

Natalia had no words to respond to the archer's admission. Instead, she simply began to clean his cuts with the same care and gentleness he had bestowed on her. "You haven't told me what I should call you by," she stated, trying to ease the tension she saw in his shoulders.

"Clint," he responded, watching her move so gracefully yet so controlled. "I'm not going to hurt you," he added, watching the Russian pause. "I promise. I'm not one for taking advantage of women."

"Why should I trust you on that?"

"My father abused my mother."

Natalia stopped what she was doing to look Clint in the eye. "Okay. I guess you're not lying."

The archer snorted in reply. "I wish that it didn't have to take that admission to make you believe me."

"For what it's worth, Clint, I trust enough to believe you won't hurt me."

Clint nodded before hissing at the sensation of the alcohol cleaning his scars. “You weren’t even using a knife,” he complained, glancing down at the cuts on his skin. “Manicured nails aren’t that sharp. No, wait, you were using a knife. Where the fuck were you hiding that thing?”

Natalia raised an amused eyebrow at the archer but she bit back the smirk that tried to grace her lips. “Under the slit of my dress.”

“Now you’re laughing at me,” he complained, throwing his head back as she wiped away the excess alcohol. He grinned at her when he brought back down his head, watching her carefully put the medical equipment back into the first aid box. “Did I actually make the _Black Widow_ laugh?”

“You’re an idiot,” she informed him, narrowing her eyes at him, watching him carefully. “Are you sure you’re not gay?”

“Yes. I have seven ex-girlfriends who can vouch for my sexual orientation. Five of which also work for the agency which employs me.”

“Your boss will not kill you?”

“No. My boss may be a prick at times, untrustworthy in others but loyal to a T. He’ll punish me for disobeying a direct order but he won’t kill me for it. All we need to do is convince him that you’ll make a good asset for the agency. And that you won’t just suddenly turn.”

“Why would I want to go back to a place that experimented on me, took me away from my family and killed said family all before I was four years old?” she asked, showing no emotions other than the darkening of her eyes from anger.

“Knew you were a survivor,” he replied, noticing how she was closing herself off again. He knew she was probably gaining info from him as well; she was known for her reverse-physiological techniques of interrogation. He could only hope he was able to refrain away from revealing enough info to keep safe.

“Because I had the same look in my eyes as you?” she asked, curling in on herself while the archer stood up and returned the first aid kit to the bathroom. When he returned, she was lying on the bed, her eyes focused on the ceiling once more. “What happens now?” she asked, not looking at him.

“My extraction is tomorrow. We’ll stay here for the night then head to the meeting point at 06.00 tomorrow. But I will have to handcuff you so you don’t try to leave. You okay with that?”

“It’s not much of a change from the Red Room,” she replied with a shrug, offering him her wrists. Her comment had made the archer stop as he retrieved the cuffs from his duffle bag.

“What did they do to you?” He couldn’t stop the words from leaving his mouth.

Natalia’s mouth set into a grim line. “It’s… complic-… they did a lot to us. They used to handcuff us to our beds at night to stop us from escaping.”

Clint frowned and slowly walked over to the bed. He sat down, a million thoughts crossing his mind. “Personally, I don’t want to put these on you. But I’ve already broken enough rules today. Will you be okay with me putting these on you. I’ll take them off first thing in the morning. At least, as long as you promise to come quietly?” He phrased it like a question, raising his eyes to look at her.

Natalia raised a surprised eyebrow before slowly nodding. He hadn’t lied to her – she had been trained to be a better than any lie detector in the world – so she figured she could trust him. At least, for now. Until he proved otherwise. “Okay. I’m giving you my word that I will go with you. And the handcuffs don’t bother me. But I will not allow any of your colleagues to handcuff me tomorrow. No restraints tomorrow. That’s all I ask.”

“I’ll see what I can do tomorrow. My handler might disagree but he’s more reasonable than most of the other senior agents.”

Natalia took a deep breath before reoffering her wrists to the agent. He gently cuffed her right wrist and cuffed it to the bed. He left her injured side alone, surprising her. But she figured that he didn’t want to hurt her. Her shoulder wound still hurt but it was a manageable pain.

“You won’t touch me while I sleep?” she asked, her eyes focused on the archer.

Clint shook his head, grabbing the spare pillow and blanket. “No. I won’t. I’m not my father. Or like those bastards from the Red Room,” he replied, moving onto the ground.in clear view of both the door and window.

“How do you know that they were bastards?”

“Your reaction to me. You don’t like being touched unless you know what the person is going to do. And as I have haphephobia, I know the signs when I see them.”

Natalia nodded before resting her head against her pillow. She chewed on her bottom lip before twisting her head to look at Clint. “Thank you,” she told him, surprising him. “For sparing me. And not using me.”

“No problem, Natalia. I never will either. No one’s going to hurt you now…”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coulson hesitantly approached the Black Widow as she snarled at the junior agents who tried to handcuff her. "Ms Romanova, you're under arrest until Director Fury speaks to you. The handcuffs are necessary."

The red-head raised an eyebrow at the suit. "You're handing me a weapon if you put those on me," she warned him.

"Then what do you suggest we do instead?"

"I gave Clint... I gave _Hawkeye_ my word that I would come quietly. I don't go back on my word."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I trust _Hawkeye_."

Phil paused at that. "You trust Barton?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He offered me a way out of Hell. Who was I to deny that chance?"

"Then why does Barton have three knife wounds? And you have had an arrow removed from your shoulder?"

"That was before he made a different call," she deadpanned.

Turning to the agent beside him, Phil took a syringe filled with a heavy sedative and turned back to the red-head who immediately began taking steps backwards. Her breathing had deepened, her green eyes wide. She was scared. Terrified, even. Because of the needle.

"Please, no. Please, don't," she begged, punching Phil in the face when he came too close. The suit shouted out in pain, stumbling backwards while clutching his nose. The sight of the red-head sliding down the wall - for a lack of a better word -cowering from the needle was too much for Clint to handle.  The red-head really had gone through Hell if she was that terrified of needles.

Approaching her slowly, the archer dropped to the ground where Natalia was, gently pulling her into his arms. "Sshh, it's okay. Natalia, it's me, Clint. No one is going to hurt you. I promised you. I'm not going to break that promise. They won't hurt you. I won't let them hurt you. Relax, okay? They're not going to touch you," he whispered into her ear, repeating himself until she calmed down. He knew she wasn't a risk when she buried her face in the crook of his neck, taking deep, calming breaths.

Every agent on the plane went quiet, staring at the infamous _Black_ _Widow_ cowering _Hawkeye's_ arms. Natalia had curled herself up against Clint. Noticing her still scared body language, the archer wrapped his strong, steel-like arms around the red-head protectively, holding her close.

Looking at every agent there, Clint narrowed his eyes at all of them, including Coulson. "No one is to come near her. And get rid of every syringe. If any of you have a problem, you'll answer to me. With an arrow through an eyeball," he threatened, glaring at Agent Ward who had had the syringe ready for Coulson. "Agent Coulson, you might want to have that nose checked too."

Coulson glared at Clint for his last retort with a look that said, 'You think?' "You heard him. Everyone get back to your stations. Leave Agent Barton to deal with Ms Romanova." Once every other agent had left the room, Coulson turned back to Barton. “You trust her?” The red-head had her eyes closed, her body still shaking as she fought off flashbacks from her past.

“She’s no threat to me. Anyone else? We’ll see.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

“No, I didn’t. Now do you have any more inappropriate questions, Sir?”

“You know that will be the first question Fury and the Council will ask you. I just needed to know to be able to back you up. Her obvious reaction to the needle shows that she has some type of PTSD, it makes your call easier to defend too.”

Clint nodded at his handler, absentmindedly running a soothing hand over Natalia’s back. His eyes focused down at the red-haired nineteen-year-old. Her hands were curled up in his shirt and surprisingly, he was okay with it. And he was sure that Coulson noticed too.

“You sure you two didn’t sleep together?”

“I’m sure. No one’s touched me in any intimate way in almost a year. Not after I was cheated on. But you should know this.”

“You weren’t even tempted by theУерная Вдова?”

“She’s nineteen-years-old, Phil. You think I’d take advantage of any woman? Or anyone barely legal, for that matter? Even though you know reasons why I wouldn’t?” The archer was pissed. He thought it was obvious to the handler that he hated the idea that the suit would even ask him these questions.

Phil hung his head in shame; he knew enough about Clint’s own past to know that the abuse of women was a touchy subject for the archer. “I’ll leave you be. We’ll be touching down at the Triskelion at 14.00.” Without any further comment, he left the room, closing it behind him.

“You sound angry, Clint,” Natalia whispered against his neck, surprising Clint; he had thought she was asleep since her shaking had stopped.

“I’m annoyed with my handler, Nat. Is it okay to call you, Nat? Your past doesn’t give you much space to have nicknames and the likes. That are nice, you know?”

Natalia but her bottom lip before she slowly nodded. Yeah. You can. I know you won’t hurt me. But your colleagues… They don’t seem to like the idea you spared me, no?”

“Well, you did kill five of our agents in Berlin last year.”

Natalia immediately raised her head, looking at the archer with wide eyes. “That was your agents?”

Clint nodded with a sad grin. “Yeah. One of them, Ryans, he was married two months. Had a little girl three months ago. He was the senior agent.” Natalia ducked her head in shame much like Coulson had done moments ago. But Clint placed his hand under her chin, gently pulling her face up so they were looking each other in the eye. “Hey, hey. I know you were following orders. That’s not on you. But Fury will want all the information you can give us. Will you be able to talk about what you went through in the Red Room?”

Natalia paused for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I can do that for you.”

“You’re not doing it for me, Nat. You’re doing it for yourself. Okay?”

She only nodded in reply before placing her head back in the crook of his neck. She watched his pulse beat against the side of his neck. She could easily bite down and slit his throat. But she didn’t. This man was risking his career to protect her. Against his own agency. She had decided that he had earned some points for her trust. “Thank you, Agent Barton,” she whispered against the skin of his neck. She couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face at the shiver the archer let show because of her breath on his skin.

“Stop thanking me, Nat. You have nothing to thank me for, okay?”

“I’m not allowed be grateful?”

“It’s not that. You just don’t owe me anything, Nat.”

“Yes I do. But don’t worry. I’ll find some way to repay you. Although I still don’t know why you won’t let me repay you through sex?”

“I don’t take advantage of women… I’ve told you this…”

“Yes, I know that. And your father is the reason for that. But I don’t know why that is?”

“I’ll tell you someday, Nat. Just not today.”

“Okay.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------


	2. A New Life

"Barton, you fucking little shit! Your orders were to eliminate the  _Black Widow_. You were not supposed to bring her home like a fucking stray dog!" Fury shouted at the archer. The older dark skinned man was glaring at one of his best field agents, his one eye glancing at the supposed-to-be-dead assassin suspiciously every so often as she sat close enough to Barton but far enough away so they weren't touching. "Did you sleep with her?"

"No, sir, we didn't sleep together," Barton replied calmly, using his old army tricks to keep his breathing steady. "Personally, after knowing the reasons why I do not, and would never, take advantage of women, I find that very disrespectful of you to even attempt to accuse me of it."

Fury's eye slid closed as he tried to calm himself. He knew Barton was more respectful than most agents in his agency. "And what are we going to tell the Council? They will accuse you of the same thing."

"Sir, you hired me for my ability to see things other people can't. I saw a girl forced to do things she never wanted to do. I saw a girl stolen from her family and hurt in ways no one in this agency could even imagine. You and Agent Coulson gave me a second chance because you both saw that I had potential to be a better person and an asset to this agency. I believe Miss Romanova can be the same."

Fury turned his head to look at Natalia. "Did you accept Barton's offer willingly? Are you willing to join this agency and betray the Red Room? Or once you have gained enough Intel will you return to your creators?"

Natalia snarled at the Director's words. "Why would I go back to the place where I was raped, beaten and experimented on?! Why would I go back to the place I was trying to run away from? A place which would have me killed on sight if I dare return after supposedly defecting? Or worse, take me and remake me into something else?!" she hissed, her voice deadly calm but obviously angry. "They killed my parents and two younger twin brothers when I was barely four years old, burning my house down while my family was still inside. You really think that I would prefer that over a second chance?"

Fury couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the red-head. Barton couldn't possibly have known that by just looking at her, could he? "Will you be able to give us all the information you know about the Red Room?"

"The experiments, the way they work, their leaders and the majority of their allies," the nineteen-year-old replied, cocking her head to the side. "Anything else that comes to mind, I can let you know."

Fury nodded before turning back to Barton. "You better not make me regret this, Barton. Miss Romanova will be placed under your supervision. She will be given a temporary agent place," he informed the archer before turning back to the red-head. "You will need to fill out personal details with Agent Barton. Agent Coulson will be your handler. Any problems, go to either or come to me. You will not be allowed to carry a gun until I give the go-ahead. But I'm sure your skill set will be more than enough to kick ass."

Natalia couldn't help but smirk at the Director's last sentence. She nodded in agreement before the dark skinned man handed her pages. She raised an eyebrow at him before turning her head to Barton. "I know; paperwork, right?" Clint said, rolling his head before taking a pen off the Director's desk. "Better get started now."

"Exactly. Stay here until I deal with the Council. Why are you always leaving me to clean up your shit?" Fury asked rhetorically, making his way out the door. "And don't break anything!"

"I'm guessing you break a lot of things," she started, turning her head to look down at the paperwork. "We never had to do this in the Red Room," she added, taking the pen Clint offered.

Clint decided not to comment on her words. "You can change your name. Anglicise it, if you want. Make it harder for the Red Room to find you," he offered, watching her bite her bottom lip in concentration. His breath almost caught in his throat at the sight; he was, after all, only human. And the  _Black Widow_  could make a gay man question his sexuality.

"Natasha Romanoff," she stated, writing it down in the designated area. "They won't think to use Natasha."

"Why not?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Natasha is a personal diminutive form of Natalia. In Russian, loved ones use it for anyone who is named Natalia. The Red Room won't think to look for it because it is too personal," she replied, raising her head to look at him. "You're my S.O. now?"

"Yes, at least until you are cleared. We'll have to get you new clothes too. You can't keep going around in my old ones. Everyone will think that you slept with me to get here. And I don't think you deserve that."

Natasha nodded her thanks silently then looked back down at the paper. "I don't know my date of birth," she told him, taping the pen against the paper.

"Then pick one. Everyone's got to have a birthday. Since you're a new person - well, trying to be a new person - you get to do new things."

"Today is the 22nd November, right?" she asked, her mile running a thousand miles a minute. "I think it would be fitting, yes?"

Clint couldn't help but smile softly at Natasha's words; yes, she had years of experience more than most - her eyes represented a life of someone years older than she really was - but deep inside she still had childlike tenancies. "I agree, Nat. You were born in 1984, right? That'll make you twenty-years-old today."

Natasha nodded, writing down the information into its box. "I guess so."

"I'll have to buy you a cake so," Clint replied, making Natasha raise an eyebrow at him in reply. "Birthday cake? You never had a birthday cake before?"

"The Red Room weren't exactly the birthday celebrating type," she deadpanned, returning to fill in the information she knew. "I don't know much about my medical history except that I've never had any vaccinations. I was injected with a modified modern version of the serum used to genetically modify  _Captain America_."

"Just put down  _unknown_. You can inform Fury about the serum when he returns."

"You do not seem surprised," she replied, glancing up at him as she filled in her medical history appropriately. "Did the SSR know about the serum?"

"To an extent, yes, they did. But I'm sure that you can help us with as much details as you can."

"What do you know of my mission qualifications?" she asked, pausing in her writing and glancing up at her supervising officer.

"You are highly trained in judo, karate, aikido, savate and boxing, as well as a range of multiple style of judo. You are an expert acrobat, Olympic class gymnast, athlete and aerialist. You have expert marksmanship in sharpshooting and knife throwing. You are a master interrogator, tactician, seductress and assassin. A very talented hacker. Master skills in espionage, infiltration, disguise and demolition had put you on top of America's – and this agency's - Most Wanted list."

"Seems like you learned everything about me," she replied, smirking at him as he grinned at her.

"You didn't have as many pages as most of my other marks. It's why I took the job."

"So you're lazy?"

"In some things; yes. Yes, I am."

"Is this all I need to fill out?"

"I hope so," Clint replied, taking the paperwork off of her and checking through it to make sure that there was nothing she left out. "Whoa, you're writing is very neat."

Natasha smirked at Clint before curling her legs underneath her. "What do we do now, Clint?"

"We stay here until Fury gets back. Hopefully, the Council will realise that they were idiots and that me making a different call was the right one," he replied, signing off on her file. "Then we can probably sneak out and get you new clothes."

"I have my own account that has money from hits outside the Red Room. They never asked about it so it's completely secure."

Clint nodded before placing the file on Fury's desk. "Okay. Now we just gotta wait."

* * *

"She is not to be out of your sight. Is that clear?" Fury instructed, his eyes flicking from the twenty-year-old to the twenty-five-year-old. "No breaking stuff. No brawls. No bad behaviour at all. And you are to be at your main off-base apartment by 21.00. Agent Coulson," he added as said man stepped closer to Natasha, "Will be placing a tracking bracelet on you to keep track of your location. Any problems?"

Both Clint and Natasha nodded, the red-head offering her hand to the suit so he could put it on her wrist. She raised an eyebrow at the small band. "Fashionable," she commented, dropping her hand back down to her side.

"People don't look twice," Coulson explained, standing back and nodding at the Director as he pulled the semantics up on the laptop in front of him. "It shows your heartbeat and location. Nothing else that's personal. You will only be allowed use technology within reason. Barton will have to supervise you every time you do use any type of technology. But otherwise, you can do what you like. Except kill people without reason. If you feel like you are in mortal danger than yes, you may use whatever force necessary to protect yourself. Just try to keep killing to a minimum."

"Copy that, Sir," she replied, standing at attention, taking in everything the Director and her handler were telling her. So far, other than the incident on the plane, no one had tried to touch her or hurt her. So, so far she knew that she was in a better place than the Red Room. "Anything else?"

"So far, no. Just do me a favour and don't pick up Barton's bad habits," Coulson requested, glaring at said archer when the twenty-five-year-old smirked at the suit smugly.

"Now, it wasn't my fault that Lola got damaged. You shouldn't have left her where you had," Clint replied, winking at Natasha when the red-head raised an eyebrow at him. "His car. I kinda used a putty arrow. It took him months to clean the damn thing."

"Lola is a classic, Barton. It is a 1962 Chevrolet Corvette. Do you know how long I spend restoring her? And you damaged it with a stupid prototype arrowhead?!"

"It's the only thing he really gets angry about. Well, that bloody damn car and his precious Captain America trade cards," Clint whispered to Natasha. The red-head bit the inside of her lip hard to prevent herself from laughing; Clint was enjoying pissing their handler off.

"Barton," Coulson started before Fury interrupted them.

"Would you two stop? Coulson, you already made the little punk clean that car up, quit it. Barton, you're banned from the range for the next month. Don't push me to extend that punishment," the Director warned, glaring at the archer when he made a move to comment.

"Let's leave before I get another punishment," Clint whispered to Natasha before leading her out of the office. The red-head followed dutifully, ignoring the whispers from the other agents as they made their way down the hall….

* * *

"Am I just a punishment to you?" Natasha asked as Clint drove them to the shopping district. She was mulling over what her S.O. had said before they had left the office.

"No, Nat. You're not a punishment to me. In fact, having you as an understudy might keep me out of trouble now. Because I'm not just looking after myself now. I meant that my punishment would be a further ban from the range. Or on babysitting duties of rookies. You don't count as punishment," Clint replied, signalling to turn in for a multi-storey carpark. "I have a very bad habit of pissing off the wrong people at the wrong time."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Natasha murmured, making Clint grin at her cheekily. "Will you be coming into the changing rooms with me?"

Clint almost crashed the car as a result of the red-head's question. "W-wh-what?" he stuttered, glancing over at the red-head. "Did you seriously just ask me that?"

"Agent Coulson and Director Fury said that you would have to be with me at all times. I thought that meant everywhere. At the Red Room, our handlers saw us in various stages of dress. I am not uncomfortable in front of men or women; skin is only skin. We all have it so why be ashamed by it?"

"Nat, first off," Clint started as he parked the car, "This isn't the Red Room. You have a right to personal privacy. So no, I will not go into the changing rooms with you. But I will wait outside them for you. Secondly, you will never sleep with a mark to get a job done," he added, turning the car off and turning to look at her. "Your body and health is more important than any damn mission. Yes, do what it takes to get the job done but never,  _never_ , at the cost of yourself. Is that clear, Natasha?"

The red-head nodded, noting the genuine tone in Clint's words.

Clint smiled and took her hand in his. "Our cover is a young couple. You have a cover the Red Room don't know about and which will suit that idea?"

"Natalie Rushman. Born in Boston, Massachusetts. Law student in New York University. Two years complete. Parents deceased but left a fortune in a trust fund," she replied, smirking when the archer raised an impressed eyebrow at her in reply. "Yours?"

"Francis Blake. Born in New York City, Marine captain. Comes from a rich background mixed with military background. Currently on medical leave from injuries suffered in the line of duty," he replied, grinning when Natasha nodded in agreement. "You ready?"

"Yes. Where are we heading first?"

"Wherever you want. You're the one who needs clothes…"

* * *

Natasha chuckled as she and Clint arrived at his apartment door. The archer had decided to be chivalrous and carried the majority of her bags despite her protests. The twenty-five-year-old opened the door and led her inside the large penthouse-like apartment.

The red-head couldn't help but be surprised by the large apartment. She followed the archer inside, taking in every inch of the flat.

"So, yeah," Clint started, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I have three spare bedrooms. You can pick whichever one you want," he added, pointing towards the three available rooms with his other hand. "The bathroom is furthest door on the right. The kitchen is stored with all preserved food. If you want, I can get fruit and that from the shop down the street."

Natasha smiled slightly and nodded, cautiously placing her hand on his. "Thank you. For everything," she whispered, leaning up and pressing her lips to his cheek in gratitude.

Clint couldn't stop the blush that started across his face. "Ah. Oh. Ah. N… No problem," he replied, surprised by the gratitude Natasha was showing him. He watched the red-head walk to one of the spare bedrooms. He was surprised that she had been this opened up to him. But he knew this was the calm before the storm….

* * *

"Nat, what do you want for dinner?" Clint called out as he looked through the ingredients in his kitchen. "Spaghetti? Carbonara? Or anything you want?" He almost jumped when he sensed Natasha behind him. "Jesus, Nat! Give a guy some warning next time!"

Natasha frowned in confusion but nodded. "What do you have?"

"Everything that can be frozen, I think. I've been away for three months, tracking you might I add, so I'm not exactly sure."

"Whatever is edible and not poisoned should do," Natasha replied, watching him carefully.

"Nothing's poisoned, Natasha, I promise," Clint started, twisting his body so they were face-to-face. "What's wrong?" Her overly-quiet manner was worrying him. He stepped slightly closer to her but without stepping too close to her.

"You confuse me," she answered honestly. "You do not want to sleep with me yet you were able to play the part of a loving boyfriend earlier. You do not expect anything off me in return for sparing my life. Then why save me?"

"Oh, that's what's bothering you," he stated, more to himself than to her. "Okay, ah." He took her hand in his and led her over to the kitchen counter. He motioned for her to sit down on one of the stools while he sat down on another. "First off, don't be afraid to talk to me. I'm your S.O. yes. But I also want to be your friend. I know that sounds childish but your past doesn't seem to have allowed you to have any type of friends. Secondly, as I've mentioned before, my father abused my mother. So if I am going to tell you about that part of my past, you're going to have to eat."

Natasha slowly nodded, watching the archer carefully. "You can cook Carbonara?" she asked, her eyes lighting up slightly with childish hope.

Clint grinned but mentally filed away her mood change to think about later. "Yeah. Do you want wine or water or juice with it?"

"You want to give me wine?" she replied, cocking her head to the side, watching him carefully.

"Legally, in many European countries, you're allowed drink at 18 or 16, depending on the country. Here, under your guardian's permission, you may consume alcohol in the privacy of your home," Clint replied, grinning when Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Something tells me that you've drank before so I won't stop you now. But if you get too heavy on it, I will."

Natasha grinned and nodded before raising an eyebrow when Clint presented her with a chocolate cake. "And Happy Birthday," he added with his own grin, knowing he had surprised the red-head with a cake.

* * *

Clint collected their plates and brought them over to the sink. Natasha watched him, biting the inside of her lips before taking her glass back in her hand. She stood up and made her way out into the living room, looking out onto the skyline of New York City. She took a sip from her glass just as Clint entered the room. She turned around, watching his movements carefully; he was an agile mover, each move he made was calculated and cautious.

"You'll need to sit down for me to tell you what I'm about to tell you," Clint started, his own glass refilled. He sat down on the couch, chewing on his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the blank screen of the flat screen in front of him. "It's a long story too."

Natasha slowly made her way over to the couch, her eyes never leaving Clint's tense boy. She noticed the way his jaw set, his eye's steady and focused.

"Just so you know, I don't want pity for what I'm about to tell you, Natasha. And what I tell you is not to leave this apartment. Other than you, Coulson, Fury and my older brother are the only ones who know the truth. Do you understand?"

Natasha nodded, placing her glass on the coffee table in front of him, focusing her full attention on the archer.

"So I've told you that my dearest father abused my mother. As far as I can remember, it was common in our house for Harold to come home. Drunk wouldn't even be the right word for the state he would be in. He'd usually hit me first. Or at least try. Barney used to get in the way before he could. Or my mom would. Usually if he got to her first, he'd drag her up to their bedroom. Then he'd proceed to rape her. I can still hear her screams as she tried to fight him. But then he'd just beat her until she was unconscious. And he'd still rape her. If he got to me first he wouldn't bother raping my mom; he usually passed out before he could touch her. If he got to Barney first… Well, he'd just hurt my mom twice as bad."

Natasha kept her eyes focused on Clint's body as he spoke. His words surprised her, the pain in his voice couldn't be faked, not even by her.

"When I was seven, Harold came home beyond drunk. I tried to stop him but he got to mom first. He raped her repeatedly. Beat the shit out of me and Barney and tied us up so we couldn't call the cops. Then he dragged mom out to the truck. Wrapped it around a tree five miles out from Waverly. Mom died instantly. He died later in hospital, too brain dead to survive. Social services collected us eleven hours later."

He kept quiet as he let Natasha take in the new information. He took a sip from his glass, his eyes focused on the screen.

Natasha bit her bottom lip in thought. She now could understand why he had Haphephobia and his reluctance to take advantage of her. Slowly, she picked her own glass back up, taking a sip while Clint leaned back into the couch. She watched his every mood, not knowing what to say. What could she say? The archer had suffered as a child. Like she had. But he had suffered at the hands on his own father.

"Don't pity me, Nat," he suddenly requested, surprising the red-head. He turned his head to look at the spy. "I just wanted you to know that I can empathise with you. To a point. I don't know what it's like to be raped but I do know what it's like to be beaten and abused. By people you were supposed to trust. A few missions have also allowed me to see the basics of what it's like to be experimented on."

Natasha smiled weakly at the archer. "Thank you," she said simply, knowing anything else would play down the importance of his genuine admission.

Clint nodded and weakly returned her smile. He turned to turn on the television, the two assassins losing themselves to their thoughts as the older of the two turned on some mindless comedy.

* * *

_Natalia took a deep breath and closed her eyes when she heard the tell-tale sounds of the heavy military boots thumping against the hard concrete ground. She slowed her breathing to imitate that she was sleeping. They had cuffed both of her wrists tonight, her small young arms stretched high over her head. The other girls were whimpering, afraid of the sound of their trainers coming closer to their room._

_Suddenly, the metal door flew open, Comrade Shostakov and Comrade Belova entering quickly._

" _Yelena, get these sluts ready for the new round of tests. Commissar Petrovitch wants to see if this serum is any better than the last one."_

_The blonde nodded, releasing each of the girls from their handcuffs. The eleven ten-year-olds scampered to attention, all scared of what their trainers would do if they weren't quick._

_Natalia's eyes immediately shot open when Yelena approached her, the young red-head quickly moving in line with the rest of the girls. She kept her breathing and heart rate steady, watching everyone's movements carefully. She had learned since the last time that no one could be trusted._

" _You will each receive a new batch of the serum. You will not cry. You will not scream. You were created to serve the Motherland. Nothing else. You do what is necessary to protect the Motherland. And you will do whatever Petrovitch sees fit to do so." Shostakov's voice was low and threatening to the young girls. "Am I understood?"_

" _Yes, sir," they all replied, loud enough to echo off the damn concrete walls of their room._

" _Then let's get you sluts down to the lab…"_

_Natalia could still remember the pain of the needles as they penetrated her pale skin, the burning, crippling sensation rippling through her veins as the serum worked its way through her body…._

* * *

Clint woke with a start, his body immediately focusing on the female scream of primal pain. He was out of bed like a light, running out the door and into Natasha's room. He flung the door open, checking every inch of the room before focusing on the red-head who was tossing and turning in the bed. But the archer couldn't help but noticed that the twenty-year-old had handcuffed herself to the bed.

He slowly made his way over to the bed, spotting the keys on the bedside locker. He quickly grabbed it and undid the the handcuffs. But the results were immediate.

Natasha grabbed Clint by the shoulders and flipped him underneath her, one of her small hands immediately wrapping around his neck while she brought the other back to form a fist.

"Natasha, it's me, Clint," he spoke calmly in Russian despite the death grip on his throat. "I'm not going to hurt you. You were having a nightmare."

Natasha breathed heavily, her green eyes slowly clearing from the haze of the nightmare. She quickly glanced at her wrists. She frowned, noticing that the handcuffs were no longer around her wrists. She looked back at Clint, her eyes clouded with confusion.

"If you kept tossing and turning, you were going to dislocate your shoulder," he explained, relaxing his muscles beneath her tense body. "I unlocked them just before you pinned me."

Natasha slowly calmed her breathing before moving off of him. She curled her legs up against her chest, watching Clint slowly sit up against the headboard, his steady grey eyes locked on her. "What... why did you come to help me? I'm a murder. I have red in my ledger. Why don't you hate me? Why don't you just kill me?"

"That's a lot of questions," he replied calmly, watching her as she shook slightly but no tears left her eyes. "First off, you are a victim, yes. But you are a survivor too. Personally, that was enough reason to not take the kill shot when I had it. Secondly, I have just as much rer on my hands. And the blood on my hands was my choice. I wasn't kidnapped as a child and unmade so they could make me into something I wasn't. I could have left but I didn't. And that's on me. What happened to you, and what you did under orders, wasn't your fault. If you want, use this second chance to clean your ledger."

Natasha slowly nodded, her fingers playing with the hem of her nightdress. "Is it that easy? You just offering to give me a way out?"

"I promise, it's not easy. It's long and sometimes you just want to give up. But it does help to clear your conscience." Clint watched her nod again. "You need to sleep, Nat. I can stay if you want but I won't touch you. Not sexual anyways. But I can hold you until you fall asleep."

Natasha paused at his words. "But you have Haphephobia," she whispered, frowning in confusion. "Why risk a panic attack for me?"

"Did I have a panic attack when I held you on the plane? No. Holding someone doesn't trigger attacks. As long as they don't touch me directly."

"I can't sleep without the handcuffs," she admitted, ducking her head in shame. "They programmed us to need the handcuffs to sleep. Trained our bodies and mind to need the handcuffs, a sign of their ownership of our bodies."

"I will have to have a spare key though. I'm not going to let you hurt yourself because of what they did to you. And we can work together to with your de-programming. Okay?"

Natasha nodded, gratefully taking the handcuffs back from him, clicking them closed around her right wrist. She waited for Clint to lie down before she curled up on top of the archer, making sure not to touch his chest.

Clint watched as Natasha locked the other end of the handcuffs to the headboard. Once she stilled on top of him, curled up like a cat, he gently wrapped his arms around her comfortingly...

* * *

Natasha woke up the next morning alone. She frowned in confusion; she was never able to sleep when someone else was in the room. She noticed that Clint's scent was still on the sheets so he wasn't long up. But the fact that he was able to get out of bed without waking her surprised her.

She undid the handcuffs and climbed out of the bed, stealthily making her way out to the kitchen. She paused at the door, her eyes trailing over the scars scattering the archer's back while he cooked their breakfast. Some scars were obviously from his time in the military and life as an agent; knives, bullets, needles, shrapnel, electrical torture. The works. But there were some scars that she knew were nothing to do with the job: cigarette burns were littered over his back and she could safely bet that if he'd turn around she would be able to see similar scars on his torso and thorax.

"You know if you have questions you can just ask me instead of trying to figure it out on your own," Clint suddenly called out, startling the red-head.

She nodded, slowly walking over to the oven and hob where he was making his waffles. She watched him carefully, trying to figure out what to say or do. He wasn't treating her like one of her façades or the  _Black Widow_. And she didn't know how to act.

And Clint noticed. "You know that it's not going to be immediate that you'd be able to live without using a façade. And that's okay," he told her, reaching up to the press above them and taking out two plates.

"But don't the agency need you in the field?"

"Nat, helping you is top of my priorities right now. And on Fury's. I think he'd much prefer you on our side then the enemy's. So we'll take this one day at a time, okay? Our main concern for the next six months, so far, is breaking your Red Room programming. It'll give you time to adjust too."

"Do I need to do a medical?"

"Yes. Medical routine check today. That okay?"

"What time?"

"In three hours..."


	3. The Medical Check-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. And the short - crap - chapter. My health isn't the best at the moment so I've been away from writing to try get it under control. But hopefully, I'll be able to write a new - and better - chapter soon :)

Natasha followed Clint down the walls of his agency's headquarters towards the med bay. She could hear the other agents whispering about her but the red-haired assassin kept her head high, ignoring the rumours.

Clint stopped in front of an empty room, opening the door and leading her inside. The red-head immediately took in her surroundings, keeping her eyes flickering towards the armed guards outside the room. She was sizing them up and her S.O. knew it.

"They won't make a move unless I give the order," Clint informed her, glaring at the other agents as he shut the door behind him. "Anything you want or need to tell me before I call in the doctor?"

Natasha shook her head. But then thought better of it. "Clint... I... no male doctors. Or needles. If they need to take blood, I'll draw it myself," she stated, curling her legs up against her chest.

Clint nodded and took out his phone. "I'll be right back. I'm just outside the door," he informed her, waiting for Natasha to nod before he exited the room. He glanced at the two male doctors. "Your services are no longer needed. Doctor Santos will be doing the medical assessment of Agent Romanoff." The two agents on guard began to protest. "You two can fuck off as well. If you have a problem with that, argue with Agent Coulson. He gave the order."

The four men scattered when Hawkeye glared at them. He dialled a familar number, waiting paitently for the recipient to anwser.

 _ **"Agent Barton, I wasn't aware that you were on a mission. Did you get into another bar brawl?"**_ a female voice greeted, and Clint could hear the smug smirk in her voice.

"Dr. Santos, wherever did you get that idea? No. I didn't get into a brawl at the bar. I have a favour to ask you."

_**"Does this have anything to do with the target you brought in instead of terminating?"** _

"Yes. I will explain better when you get here. If it's okay?"

_**"I'll see you in five minutes."** _

"Thank you." Clint ended the phone call before re-entering the med room. "Dr. Santos will be doing the medical assessment. She's a good friend of mine and she won't hurt you."

"How are you sure she won't?"

"She's Agent Ryans' widow. And she knows the difference between someone being brainwashed to kill and a willing murderer."

"Why would she help me after I killed her husband?"

"Because she trusts me. And she was the first person to state that you didn't look like a willing murderer."

Natasha was about to agrue but a quick, polite knock on the door interrupted the red-head. The door opened and in stepped a petite Latino woman in her late twenties, a large black handbag and dressed in a fitted black work dress.

"Agent Barton, Agent Romanoff," Dr. Santos greeted with a nod. She slowly approached the two assassins, hugging Clint. "Your Goddaughter has been looking for you," she informed him as she pulled away.

"I'll visit soon so. That kid has me wrapped around her little finger. And she's only three-months-old," Clint replied with a grin.

Dr. Santos shook her head and turned to Natasha. "Agent Romanoff," the brunette started, offering the red-head her hand. "My name is Eva Santos-Ryan. I'm Agent Barton's doctor. This is only gonna be a routine medical check for new agents. And I've read Agent Barton's confidential report. Only the Director, Agent Coulson, Agent Barton and myself have access to. Is there any triggers I should be made aware of?"

Natasha looked at Clint, suprised at the doctor's warm welcome. The archer smiled and nodded, stepping back slightly. The red-head took the doctor's hand and shook. "I don't trust male doctors. I hate needles but if you need to run blood tests, I'll draw the blood myself."

"That's fine. From now on, I'm your doctor. So no male doctors involved. As for the drawing of blood, that can wait until you're ready. Clint, I'm going to have to ask Natasha a few personal questions, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave?"

"He stays," Natasha answered, surprising the two in front of her. "Barton stays."

"Are you sure? Some of these questions will be something that you may find uncomfortable to share, even with Agent Barton," Eva replied, watching the red-head for any sense of hesitation.

"He won't take advantage of me. Or what happened to me," Natasha replied, glancing at the archer as he watched her carefully. "I trust him more than you so he stays."

Eva nodded before turning to Clint. "Don't punch a wall when you hear something you're against," she instructed, looking at him knowingly.

Clint nodded, taking the chair beside the bed. His eyes flickered between the two women, lingering on Natasha, making sure she was okay. Eva asked all the routine questions before she came to the - for lack of a more suitable name - uncomfortable questions.

"At any stage of your time as a Red Room asset, did you have any romantic relationship?"

"No."

"Were you in a sexual relationship with anyone?"

"Does being raped count?"

Eva raised an eyebrow. "How many men?"

"Three men, one female. Always wore protection. They were my trainers. I was raped as punishment."

Clint gripped the arms of his chair, biting the inside of his lip, hard enough to draw blood. Natasha and Eva glanced at him, his face void of any kind of emotion but his eyes full of rage.

"Together or seperate?" Eva was afraid to ask.

Natasha shrugged, her eyes flickering over Clint's still form. "It depended on my punishment. Usually it was two or three of them. Sometimes all four. Never just one. If it did happen, it didn't last for long before another joined in."

Suddenly, Clint stood up, punching the wall in frustration. He took a deep breath before turning back to face the women. "Sorry," he murmured, his eyes focused on the ceiling.

Eva nodded before turning to Natasha. "I'm going to have to perform a rape test. You still want Agent Barton here?"

Natasha turned to Clint, watching the archer as he clenched and unclenched his hand. "Do you want to stay?" she asked him in Russian.

"I'll stay if you want. But I'm not looking." His voice raw with anger at what had happened to her. And the memories of his mother it stirred. "Your choice?"

"Will you stay with me?"

"Yes."

Natasha turned back to Eva. "He stays. I don't trust you."

Eva nodded in understanding. "Okay. Just let me get one. And Barton, no more walls," she instructed as she exited the room.

Clint slowly raised his head to look at Natasha. "You okay?" he asked, his angry grey eyes softening from their stormy to concern.

"I'm fine," she lied, still unused to the concern. "You seemed more upset than me."

"Yeah.. Sorry about that," Clint mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. "You were just a kid..."

"Well, here's a news flash for you, Barton; the world isn't as kind as America and the West make it out to be. The world's a big bad place where kids are exploited, abused and experimented on. I just happened to be one that was made into a monster and weapon. I don't need your fucking pity!"

Clint almost growled at Natasha. Almost. "I'm not pitying you, Natasha. I just wish that the cowards who hurt you die. Preferably at my hands. Because I need to shoot a few cowardly bastards."

"Are you trying to be my knight-in-shining-armour?" she sneared, glaring at the archer. "Hate to break it to you, Cupid, but I'm no damsel-in-distress."

Clint shook his head at Natasha's change in mood. "I know you're not. I never thought you were. But if you trust me, you should know that I'm not trying to find your weakness so I can exploit you. I want to help you find your feet and help you get rid of the effects of the Red Room."

Natasha paused. How the fuck did he know why she'd closed off? He couldn't possibly have figured her out already. The red-head was saved from answering the archer when Eva entered the room again.

"Here, put this on," the doctor instructed, handing Natasha the medical gown. "And let's get this over with..."

* * *

Natasha followed Clint inside the apartment. She watched him stalk off into the kitchen while she walked out to the living room. She could see the archer was beyond pissed at the results of the rape test. She had severe tears to her vaginal walls and anal wall which had only recently begun to heal.

Slowly, she walked into the kitchen. "Clint," she started but the archer stopped her.

"Don't. I'm fine. Still want me to make lunch? Or do you want to order take-out?"

Natasha was taken aback by Clint's stiff response. But she answered him anyways. "You can make it," she replied, walking over to him. "Barton. Clint, I'm sorry," she whispered, surprising the archer.

"What for?" he asked, turning towards her.

"I didn't mean to be so mean earlier. It's just... I. I'm not used to being cared for. No one's ever cared for me before. I'm just too used to being hurt."

"I'm going to hug you," he told her before pulling her into his arms. "I'm not going to hurt you. No one will hurt you again, as long as I have a say about it. All I'm trying to do is help you. You need to know that I will always try to help you," he whispered, pulling her closer to him.

Natasha slowly wrapped her arms around his waist and nodded. "Okay," she whispered, not knowing what else to do.

Slowly, Clint pulled away. "Wanna help me make lunch?" he offered, knowing that he needed to keep her out of her own mind prison.

Natasha nodded, her expressionist green eyes lighting up childishly. She was out of the prison the Red Room had made her mind. At least, for now...


	4. A Few New Confessions (Part 1)

Natasha watched as Clint took shot after shot, hitting each bullseye with perfect precision. She could admit that it was a fascinating sight to watch. Barton had a physique that was easy on the eyes. Especially when he was in a tight wife beater which showed off his arms, chest and abs. Not that she would tell him that. He already had enough of an ego, thank you very much.

It had been a month since Clint made a different call. During the past four weeks, she had opened up a bit to the archer. She did her necessary tests with Dr. Santos but wouldn't go to any of the other doctors or psychiatrist The Council insisted she go to; instead, Dr. Santos did the basic psych evaluation and that was that. Natasha liked the Latina doctor. She didn't ask any questions she didn't need to know. She let Clint stay with Natasha because the red-head didn't trust anyone but the archer. She let her draw her own blood tests. And she didn't touch her during medical exams without telling Natasha where she was going to exam.

"You are planning on killing me, are you?" Clint called out, surprising Natasha slightly although the red-head didn't show it.

"No. Although, if you keep bickering with Coulson during training, I might just consider it," she replied, smirking when Clint raised an eyebrow at her.

"I bet I could still beat you in a jog around base," he shot back in reply, firing one last shot before walking over to the red-head. "I do have the larger body mass."

Natasha cocked her head to the side and smirked. "Wouldn't your exes be jealous that you spend more time with the Russian whore leg spreader than you ever spent with them?" she replied innocently; she heard the rumours, she knew what people were saying about her.

Clint frowned. "I'm sorry. I.. You shouldn't have to suffer because of my past relationships. You didn't do anything to any of them. I'm sorry," he replied, looking down at his hands, ashamed.

Natasha bit her bottom lip; she still wasn't used to anyone caring about her. And yet Clint cared for her beyond doubt, no questions asked. "It's not your fault," she replied, watching the archer carefully. "You never say anything bad to me. You didn't tell them to do this. Their behaviour isn't your fault." The red-head internally smiled as Clint continued to pout. ' _It's, kinda, hot_ ,' she thought to herself, ' _Don't, Natasha! Don't think about him like that!_ ' She really didn't need to think about Clint in bed. Or how she wanted to kiss that pout away. Or how his hands would feel on her body. No, she needed to remain professional. But the idea did appeal to her.

Clint slowly nodded, then looked over to the target board. "I'll clean up and then we can go for something to eat," he stated, smiling at the red-head when he turned back to look at her. "I'm sorry that you're not allowed use any weapons yet. I don't think they'll keep you away from them for much longer though," he added, hopping over the counter and walking up towards the target to pick up his arrows.

Natasha waited until he was finished with his task before she spoke. "I don't mind not shooting as long as I can train. Having both you and Agent May as my S.O.s makes sure I still get to train," she told him, making the archer nod in understanding. Both he and Melinda had argued to Fury that keeping Natasha idle would not be in anyone's favour. So the Director agreed that the red-head could train under the two while Coulson was her handler and would be present for some of her training.

"Well, don't worry about not training. I don't think anyone likes the idea of you going stir crazy from being idle," Clint teased, grinning at the red-head cheekily.

In return, Natasha mock-punched his shoulder, glaring at the archer as they made their way out of the shooting range. She was still getting use to his teasing. And dare she say it, he was a friend to her. Not that she would tell anyone that. She wanted to keep her cards close to her chest. At least until she was sure of her place in the agency. But she would admit that Clint had a way of making her feel nothing like the monster she felt like when she had still been part of the Red Room...

* * *

Natasha dodged Agent May as the older woman used a flurry of punches and kicks, trying to catch the red-head off guard. Only May and Clint would train with her. Not that Natasha was complaining. May didn't force her to talk. Didn't force conversation. They often simply talked about different fighting styles and how to improve.

Clint, however, made it his duty to get Natasha to talk about something. No matter how trivial it was. He also tried to get her to smile. Not that it happened at base. But he did manage to get her to smile in the privacy of his apartment.

Currently, the archer was on a mission in Calcutta. A drug lord was trying to dip his hands into weapons development. Clint had been sent to take him out. Not that Natasha was supposed to know all that detail. While Clint was gone, Natasha had been placed under May's supervision although the red-head still slept in Clint's apartment. The red-head had fought tooth and nail to make sure she wasn't moved: she wasn't like a child whose parents had divorced and were sharing custody. She could take care of herself, thank you very much. And anyways, she still had the bracelet which kept track of her location.

"Barton requested that I should bring you out for lunch. So that you're not subjected to more bullshit from other agents in the canteen," May informed her when they took a water break.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at her stand-in S.O. "I'm more than capable of dealing with all of the agents who believe the rumours about why Agent Barton made a different call," she replied calmly despite the various emotions going on in her head. She didn't need a goddamn babysitter while Clint was gone.

"He said you say that. And so he told me to tell you that he doesn't want you to suffer for his past mistakes and his correct decision to not follow through with his kill orders. And I agree with him," May replied, crossing her arms and levelling the red-head with a motherly gaze. "I'm not taking no for an answer," she added when Natasha opened her mouth to protest.

Natasha bit the inside of her lip before nodding. There was no point trying to argue with May. She was like Coulson that way; once she had her mind made up, you couldn't change it easily.

May smirked. Barton had requested that she should bring Romanoff away from the incorrect rumours about the red-head's recruitment. But the older woman also wanted to see what Romanoff was like outside the base. She didn't think the Russian was comfortable at the base, particularly with Barton's exes spreading shitty rumours about the two. "Good. How do you feel about an Italian restaurant?"

* * *

"So… you think Barton made the right call?" Natasha asked May in Mandarin Chinese when the waiter placed their food in front of him. The red-head had ordered fettuccine alla carbonara while May had ordered a risotto. Natasha had a feeling that the various dishes Clint had been teaching her how to cook were now influencing what she ate for her main meals. Although that didn't stop her sweet tooth.

"I think Barton is smarter than he lets most people at work know," May started in the same tongue, a small grin showing up. "Barton sees better from a distance. He didn't see what the rest of us saw. He was able to compartmentalise and saw the real target. And it wasn't you. Unfortunately, you were simply the weapon the Red Room was using to get their job done. You were a child whose childhood was stolen, and you weren't given the chance to develop your own ideas. You were brainwashed to trust and believe the Red Room's. Therefore, yes, I do think Barton made the correct call."

Natasha was surprised by May's honesty but didn't let it show. She simply nodded and dug into her lunch, not realising how hungry she was until she begun to eat. Then a question popped into her head. "Why do Clint's exes hate me so much?"

May chuckled darkly. "Because he never trusted them. And he never let them sleep at his apartment. However, he trusts you. And doesn't mind you sharing his living space. He's more comfortable with you than he ever was with any of them. They're simply jealous. So they're degrading you by the rumours," May replied, remembering how angry the archer was when he stormed into Phil's apartment after hearing some of the more degrading rumours. "He's also protective of you. He knows that you don't need it but he thinks you deserve it after what you went through."

Natasha frowned slightly before glancing at May. "His Haphephobia probably didn't help him with his relationships," she replied, chewing on the inside of her lip. She had done some research after Clint had told her about his abusive father. His condition had various symptoms, discomfort and perspiration, nausea, heart palpitations, dry mouth, feeling dizzy, panic, numbness, heightened senses, breathlessness, feeling trapped, muscle tension and rigidity, trembling, hyperventilating, feeling out of control, feeling of impending doom or disaster, and hives. The red-head often wondered how he managed to work when he was undercover.

May nodded solemnly. "They didn't understand why he hates being touched. He tolerates Dr. Santos touching him. But that's because she only touches him in time of medical emergencies. Otherwise, she allows him to treat himself with her supervision. And he doesn't mind young children touching him as long as they don't try to hit him. His exes, well, all but two, thought that he would grow to like their touch. He never did. The other two understood that he couldn't just learn to like their touch overnight. And they accepted it."

"Agent Morse was one of them?" Natasha asked, recalling the name of Clint's ex who had cheated on him.

May nodded. "That's what made her cheating on him so surreal. She accepted Clint's flaws. She didn't push him. Didn't mind him not allowing her into his apartment that much. It came as a shock when I heard she cheated on him. And she's one of the two that hasn't spread any rumours about you. The looks she gives you are more suspicious than jealous."

Natasha nodded and kept eating before asking, "Who else doesn't hate my guts?"

May chuckled. "Clint's ex, Jessica Drew. Maria Hill. Phil. Fury. Dr. Santos. And myself," she replied, taking a drink of water as Natasha processed her words.

"Thank you. For trusting Barton and not hating me," Natasha replied, smiling slightly at her stand-in S.O.

"Barton is usually right when he makes calls that required someone to watch from a distance. And he always stands by his call. And from what I've seen so far, his sight is far better than the combination of The Council's and their informants."

Natasha bit her lip once more before asking, "Would you show me those Tai-Chi moves that seem to keep you so relaxed all the time?"

Melinda grinned properly this time. "You really have been spending too much time around Barton and Phil's bickering to ask me to teach you Tai-Chi," she commented knowingly.

Natasha smirked and shrugged her shoulders. "Clint, on his own, I can deal with. But if I have to listen to him and Coulson bickering during training once more, I'm going to taser one of them. Then tie them up to the top of base in their underwear."

"What 80's shows has Barton been showing you?"

* * *

Natasha grabbed one of the sharp kitchen knives when she heard rattling at the front door. She slowly made her to the hallway, leaning against the wall as she waited for the intruder to enter. She kept as still and as quiet as she could, watching the mirror on the wall as the door open.

"Natasha, you can put the knife down, it's only me," Clint called out as he entered the apartment. He dropped his gear bag to the ground and added as she stepped out of her hiding place, "Honey, I'm home."

Natasha raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the archer. "You're a riot, Clint," she deadpanned.

"You love me really," he joked back, nudging her shoulder with his own as he walked towards the kitchen.

"Love is for children," she replied, following him into the kitchen she watched as he made his way over to the press to grab a glass and get water for himself.

"What are you cooking?" Clint asked, finally noticing the food Natasha had been preparing before he entered. On the counter, arranged neatly were two medium chicken breasts, cooked and cubed, olive oil, two garlic cloves, a medium onion which was diced neatly, a jalapeno pepper, a can of diced green chilies, salt, chili powder, cumin, salsa Verde, red enchilada sauce, a can of large black olives, cut in half, sour cream, shredded cheese, and pasta. And there was a pot of water boiling on the stove.

"Chicken Enchilada Pasta," she replied, returning to her spot where she was preparing. She could feel the archer's eyes on her but he wasn't watching her because of lust. He was simply observing her to see what mood she was currently in. "I thought it would be the easiest thing to do. You need to get more food," she added, biting back a smirk when he groaned.

"I've been gone a week. The kitchen was full of food. How could someone as small as you eat so much food?!" he exclaimed, getting up to check if the all the food was indeed gone. It was.

"I was hungry," she replied simply, actually smirking when he turned to look at her in disbelief. "And there wasn't that much food, Barton. Grow up," she added.

Clint closed his eyes and shook his head playfully at the red-head. He had wanted her to eat more. She was too thin, too gaunt looking. Not that she wasn't beautiful but it wasn't just him that thought she was malnourished. Eva stated, professionally, that she was malnourished. And instructed him to feed her better and provided her with a healthy balanced diet. "It looks like I'll need to be buying more food for your insatiable hunger," he teased, opening his eyes and smirking at the red-head.

Natasha turned and pouted at the archer. She watched an emotion flash through his eyes but it was too quick for her to recognise; he schooled his features before she had the chance to figure out what was going on in his head. "Now you're just being mean, Barton," she shot back. She actually enjoyed their banter when they were alone. At base, she preferred remaining in her stoic façade but in Clint's apartment, she let down her walls. At least, as much as she was comfortable with.

"You ate all my food," he replied, glaring at her playfully. "I think I'm allowed be mean for a few minutes."

"Until what?" she asked, pausing everything to glance at the archer. She really didn't like the way he was going with this.

"Until you cook the food, wench," he replied with a cheeky grin.

Natasha's jaw literally dropped at Clint's words. Of all the cheek, he decided to say that to her. Was he for real? "How dare you?!" she practically screeched, turning to the archer. "I'm not some woman you can have barefoot and pregnant like the perfect American Dream!" she shouted, glaring as the archer simply laughed and grinned at her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated as Natasha threw the tea towel at him. "I'm sorry." He stepped closer to the red-head, placing two placating hands on the red-head's shoulders. She raised an eyebrow at him, quietly fuming at the archer's comment. "I didn't mean it as a misogynistic comment. I would never think of you like that. You are your own woman and I would never think of you as someone I could use simply to have children with. If you want to have children in the future that's your decision, not mine. I was simply joking with you. I'm sorry."

Natasha closed her eyes and took a deep breath before slowly nodding. She knew Clint didn't mean anything by his comment. But she was so used to hearing it from marks that hearing it from him stung.

"I'm going to hug you, okay?" he whispered, watching her build up her walls again. He hadn't meant to trigger anything. He slowly wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer to him, resting his chin on her head. "I'm sorry."

Natasha shrugged and hesitantly brought her hands up to wrap around Clint's waist. She was surprised at the feeling of comfort she felt with him, something she never experienced before he made a different call. She kept her head still as it rested against the archer's chest, not wanting to trigger his Haphephobia.

Eventually, the red-head pulled away and looked back at the food. "I'll get the dinner made," she murmured, not looking at the archer. She didn't want him to see the effect he had on her emotions. That would give her a weakness and she couldn't afford a weakness. Not in her line of work.

Clint nodded and took a few steps backwards. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he informed her, scratching the back of his neck before leaving her be. He didn't want her to be uncomfortable with him.

Natasha let out a soft sigh when she heard the shower running. Even though she was more comfortable with Clint, she still didn't want to let her walls down around him. She did open up somewhat but she didn't want to let herself get hurt. Even though Clint genuinely cared for her. She returned to cooking the dinner, making a point to forget about Clint's joke.

* * *

Clint let the water cascade down on top of him, washing the dirt and grime of the Indian streets. He closed his eyes and let the water wash over his face. He thought back to the look of outrage on Natasha's face when he had made his joke about her cooking. He hadn't meant to upset her. He placed his two hands on the wall and grit his teeth as the wound on his lower back stung as the water washed out the germs out of it. Glancing backwards, he caught a glimpse of his blood running down his leg. ' _Great. Now I need stitches,_ ' he thought to himself.

Turning off the shower, he quickly grabbed a towel and dried himself. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he walked out into his bedroom to grab a pair of fresh boxers and sweatpants. Getting dressed quickly and grabbing a first aid kit, Clint made his way out to the kitchen where Natasha was sitting at the kitchen counter while the food cooked. Every now and again, she'd get up to stir the past while waiting for the rest of the food cooked.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at Clint when he entered the kitchen, dressed in a pair of dark grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips while the waistband of his boxers peaked out from beneath the cotton. She took in the impressive sight of the archer's broad chest and perfect arms while admiring his toned abs; they weren't completely defined as he still had a bit of fat on him but defined enough to notice. He truly was a fine specimen to lay your eyes upon.

"I need you to do me a favour," he started, slowly approaching her calmly. Placing the kit on the table, he turned to show the red-head his back. "I need you to stitch me," he told her, phrasing it like a question.

Natasha took a look at the wound on Clint's back. It was a deep enough gash, from near his mid-spine diagonally down to his left hip. It was as if someone had tried to steal his kidney and did a botched job at it. "Tell me where I can't touch, Clint. I don't want to trigger anything for you," she eventually stated, moving to grab the first aid kit, opening it and taking out the needle and thread. She took out the disinfecting alcohol and a piece of cloth to clean the wound.

"Don't go two vertebrae above the cut. Anywhere beneath that is okay," he replied, biting back a hiss as Natasha cleaned the cut with alcohol. She was quick but meticulous as she cleaned the cut, her small fingers barely touching his skin.

Natasha noticed how tense Clint was as she cleaned his body, but she didn't know whether it was from her touching him or if he was in pain. "Where else is injured?" she asked, deciding it was the best way to go forward. His upper torso did look bruised.

"I think I bruised a few ribs," he replied, taking a deep breath as she begun to neatly stitch his back. He measured his breathing to help sooth the pain. And with Natasha's quick methid of stitching him, he knew the pain wouldn't be for much longer.

Natasha made the stitches as neat as possible. But it would still scar. Another addition to his impressive collection. She did a double knot at the end before cutting the thread. Then she leaned back to study her work. "You should still see Dr. Santos," she stated, watching as Clint relaxed slightly. "And I need to wrap your ribs. And you have a nasty bruise on your shoulder," she added. Both his ribs and shoulder seemed to be getting darker with each second that passed.

Clint nodded and turned on the bar stool to face the red-head. "I need to see you as you do it," he explained with a shy shrug, not used to anyone but Eva treating his injuries.

Natasha nodded and took out the roll of bandage out of the kit. "You guide me," she told him, standing between his legs so she could wrap his rips and shoulder. She let him hold her hands and guide them around his body, the red-head taking care not to let her skin touch his. Within minutes, his ribs were efficently wrapped and Natasha stepped back slightly to make sure that everything was in place.

Clint caught Natasha's hands as she pulled away from him, the archer taking a deep breath. He kept his eyes on her hands, fighting back the small feeling of panic that had coursed through him while she was patching him up.

Natasha waited Clint out as he fought to calm his breathing. She wasn't good at the whole comforting thing but she gently ran her thumbs over his knuckles, waiting for him like he had done on various occasions for her.

"Thanks," he whispered roughly, his voice hoarse with emotions. He slowly looked up at her, noticing she was watching him carefully. "Thank you for not touching me," he added quietly.

Natasha nodded and slowly stood back. "Well, after making a different call, it's the least I could do for you," she replied, smiling slightly at him before turning to clean up the kit. Then she moved to check on their food, deeming it cooked enough.

Natasha worked quickly and put the food on plates for the two of them. All before Clint could move. When his brain finally caught up with Natasha's actions, he stood up to take down glasses and cutlery for them. Setting the table, he moved to the fridge and turned to Natasha. "What do you want to drink?" he asked, surprising the red-head.

"What do you have?" she replied, setting the plates on the counter where he had set up for them.

Clint glanced at the bottles he had in the fridge. "Sauvignon Blanc, Côtes du Roussillon or water?"

"Sauvignon Blanc," she replied, taking a seat while Clint took out the white wine. "Do you need pain relief?" she asked, watching him carefully.

Clint shook his head and opened the bottle of wine. "Just hungry. I'll be fine," he replied, smiling at the red-head as he poured her a glass. "Thank you for cooking."

Natasha nodded in reply and waited for Clint to sit down before she dug into her food. The archer did the same, his eyes flicking up to watch her every now and again throughout their comfortable silence. Neither of them spoke, more than willing to sit in silence than say anything to upset the other...

* * *

Later that night, Clint lay in bed thinking about a dream he had about Natasha. Not that he meant to dream about her. In his dream, the red-head was lying while he went down on her. And she was crying out to him, begging him to let her come. Then it moved to him moving inside her, holding her close as he drove both of them to the edge. And as they both reached their climax, he woke up. ' _I'm really going to Hell_ ,' he thought to himself, tossing an arm over his eyes as his memories of the dream put strain on the rest of his body.

He took a deep breath and rolled over, pressing his hips against the mattress, trying to control his body. Natasha didn't need him thinking of her like that. She needed a friend, someone to have her back. Not another name to put to the list of lusty bastards who let their eyes linger too far and too long. But when she pouted at him earlier, it stirred something inside him. Something stronger than what he had felt in all of his failed relationships.

' _Damnit, Barton! Get a grip on yourself. Natasha doesn't want a relationship. Doesn't need you to be a prick who only thinks with his dick,'_  he berated himself, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Suddenly, Clint heard a loud, tortured scream from Natasha's room. He quickly jumped up out of the bed and ran into her room. She hadn't had any nightmares for two weeks prior to his mission. What had happened while he was gone? He flicked on the lights and slowly approached Natasha's bed. The red-head was twisting in her sheets, crying out in Russian, begging her attackers to stop their attack on her.

Natasha screamed again, her unconsciousness replaying memories of her pain in the Red Room….

* * *

_A young Natalia whimpered as her trainers came closer. They were holding ropes. They always had ropes. And whips. And canes._

_"Now Natalia, we're very disappointed in you," Ivan sneered in his usual slurred Russian, grabbing the teenager's hair. "You're going to be a good little bitch now and do everything we tell you."_

_"But sir, I got the mission complete. The mark's dead," Natalia whimpered, trying to get free. But Ivan only held on tighter._

_Suddenly, the youngest of the trainers slapped her across the face. "Shut up slut. Do as you're fucking told."_

_Natalia whimpered and cried as her trainers began to abuse her in one of the worst ways..._

* * *

Then her dream changed to a later date. This time about a mission that made her plan her escape from Russia….

* * *

_"No!" Natalia screamed as Alexei let the whip come lashing down on her bare back. And again. And again. It was her seventh punishment today. And it wasn't near finished._

_"You little bitch!" Can you not follow a single damn order! You were ordered to kill all of the Drakov family! You failed! Again!" Alexei roared, whipping her back harder. "Now you'll take your beating! Then I'm going to fuck you like the little bitch you are!"_

_Natalia whimpered but would not give the red-haired male behind her the pleasure of hearing her scream. Not even when he raped her..._

_Later, once Alexei was finished with his punishment, Natalia lay in her bed, her body still shaking from the onslaught of her punishment. Her whole body was either bruised or her skin was broken from the ropes, whips and canes that Shostakov had used on her before he, Petrovitch, Belova and two others had proceeded to gang rape her._

_She needed to get out of here. She wouldn't let them continue to hurt her like this. She couldn't go through the graduation ceremony. She never wanted this life; she wanted to be a ballerina like her mother. To make her father proud. Not to be some weapon that killed innocent little girls who did nothing wrong…_

* * *

"Natasha?! Natasha?!" Clint called, stepping closer to the red-head but he didn't touch her. She needed to wake out of her dream without him touching her. However, he did unlock her handcuffs. Natasha swung her arm out to hit him as she quickly sat up, her eyes dazed from her nightmare. She quickly pushed herself high against the headboard, folding her body into herself, her eyes flickering over him as she tried to figure out her surroundings.

Clint knelt on the floor, folding his arms on the bed and resting his head on top of his arms. He kept his eyes on Natasha but made no move to get closer to her. He knew the signs when he saw them; she didn't want to be touched, didn't want any contact. He knew what that felt like.

Slowly, Natasha remembered where she was; Clint's apartment, not the Red Room. She was safe. No one would hurt her here. "Clint?" she whispered, finally recognising the archer.

"I'm here, 'Tasha. I'm here," he replied, reaching out and taking one of her hands in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles soothingly. He waited patiently as she buried her face in her knees, her body shaking slightly but she didn't sob or cry out.

Clint slowly got onto the bed beside her when he felt her relax enough for him to do so. He told her what he was going to do before pulling her into his lap, her head beneath his chin. He wrapped his arms around her curled up form but didn't rub his hands along her body to comfort her, knowing that it might trigger a panic attack.

Natasha closed her eyes as Clint held her, her hands clenching and unclenching against her chest. She was thankful that he didn't try to soothe her, instead choosing to simply hold her and offer her silent support. She didn't know what she'd do if he whispered promises that he couldn't keep.

They stayed like that for the rest of the night, neither of them sleeping. Clint simply held Natasha as she dealt with the memories her nightmare had brought back to the forefront of her mind. Clint never said anything but did get her to drink some of the water from the glass he left every night on her night stand. Otherwise, he said nothing, waiting like the sniper he was until she was ready to talk to him….


	5. A Few New Confessions (Part 2)

_They stayed like that for the rest of the night, neither of them sleeping. Clint simply held Natasha as she dealt with the memories her nightmare had brought back to the forefront of her mind. Clint never said anything but did get her to drink some of the water from the glass he left every night on her night stand. Otherwise, he said nothing, waiting like the sniper he was until she was ready to talk to him…._

Natasha listened to Clint's heartbeat as he continued to sit there with her in his arms. She had stopped shaking and was now counting her breaths as she remembered various events from her past. Her fists finally unclenched, instead going to her knees, tracing the fabric of her pyjamas' bottoms. She thought back to the hotel in Moscow and how Clint had been so patient with her. Like a child.

"Why did you save me?" she whispered, surprising Clint. She leaned back to look him in the eye to see if he would answer her honestly or lie.

Clint locked eyes with her. Why did she keep asking him that? Had he not already made it clear that he thought she deserved a second chance? "Truthfully? Natasha, I'm no more virtuous than yourself. I was given a second chance. Why shouldn't you have been given one too?"

Natasha was genuinely surprised by Clint's honesty. How could he believe that after reading her file? She climbed off of him and started pacing her room angrily. "But the hospital fire in Sao Paulo in 2000? All those children whose deaths were because of me. Senator Drakov's daughter? I killed her simply to become the best Black Widow. Everyone I've killed. Do you still think I deserve a second chance?! My ledger is dripping. It's gushing red. How could I have a second chance? The only thing I'm good at his killing people!"

Clint stood up and stepped in front of her, planting his hands on her shoulders. "I nearly killed my own brother, Natasha," he confessed, his face set in a grim line. "I put him in a coma for five months. Simply because my mentor made me into a weapon I never should've become. You were the Red Room's weapon. You never made those decisions on your own. Like I didn't make the decision to hurt my brother."

Natasha frowned and shook her head. "That's not the same thing. I don't remember feeling remorse. I'm a monster. I didn't care who I killed," she answered, clenching her hands.

Clint made a noise of disagreement. "You feel it now, don't you?" he asked. When she nodded, he continued, "The Red Room is known for brainwashing people, Natasha. They brainwashed you to make you feel no remorse." She looked so doubtful. Like a kid. "You're not a monster, Natasha. You were used. That's not your fault."

Natasha brought her arms up and hugged herself, thinking over what Clint had said. Could it be that simple? Could she forgive herself for everything she had done? It sounded so childish. Could she give herself that weakness?

Clint took a breath before cupping Natasha's chin with his left hand, lifting her head up so he could look her in the eye. "You don't have to forgive yourself, Natasha. That's okay. That's normal. Just don't let the guilt bury you. Let it make you choose to clear your ledger." She frowned so he wrapped his arms around her, deciding it would be best to show he didn't want to hurt her. "I don't think you're a monster, Natasha. Neither does Melinda, Eva or Phil. Even Fury can see you were used. It doesn't matter about anyone else. We believe in you. Is that not enough?"

Natasha closed her eyes. Clint's heartbeat was a steady beat. Could she believe him? She trusted him, so far as in he wouldn't hurt you. But could she trust him with more? "For now," she whispered. She knew if she didn't say anything, he would insist on proving her wrong about it.

Clint sighed internally. "Okay. That's good enough for now. But we're going to have to talk about this, Natasha. Otherwise, Fury is going to start insisting that you visit a therapist. So if you don't want to talk about it to the therapist, you need to talk to me. Or May. Even Eva, for all anyone cares. Bottling things up doesn't help."

"Who do you talk about your problems to?"

"Barney, Phil or Eva. Sometimes Melinda. Depending on the seriousness and emotions involved," he replied honestly.

Natasha bit her lip before nodding. "Okay. I'll talk to you. Or May. Just not right now."

Clint nodded. "Okay. Now, you need to sleep. I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," he offered.

"Thank you," she replied. She really did need to sleep..

* * *

 Natasha sighed internally as she listened to the instructor. She already knew every method he was explaining. She didn't know why Fury insisted that she go through basic training before her first mission as a field operative. She had been doing all this shit since she was seven-years-old, thank you very much. She didn't see the point of why she had to listen to some washed-up marine showcasing how to deal with someone bigger than yourself.

"Agent Romanoff, are you really that bored?" a woman's voice said from behind her. Natasha turned to see who it was, only to come face-to-face with the Deputy Director, Maria Hill. Despite only being three-years older than Natasha, the brunette had risen to the second top place within the agency, a feat not usually possible, especially for a woman in a male-orientated work place.

"Agent Hill, I just don't see the point on why I should be made go through a process I've been accustomed to since I was seven-years-old," Natasha replied politely.

Maria smirked knowingly at the red-head. "That's what Director Fury pointed out to the Council. So they've cut down your probationary restrictions. You're free to leave this training group and join Agent May or Agent Barton. After you go to Fury's office."

Natasha couldn't help but raise a perfectly shaped eyebrow at the Deputy Director. "Am I in trouble, Agent Hill?"

Maria shook her head. "No. But Director Fury has decided that your abilities would be put to better practice if you had training with Agent May or Agent Barton on a full time basis rather than having you attend basic training. He will inform you of the full details when you reach his office."

Natasha nodded. "Yes, Ma'am," she replied, nodding at the Deputy Director before exiting to the locker room. She quickly changed into the cat suit she had been assigned on her arrival to SHIELD. Once finished, she shoved her bag back into her locker before making her way out into the hallways.

Other agents still stared at her like she was going to kill every one of them at a sudden moment's notice. Others muttered about how she must have fucked her way into SHIELD. How Agent Barton, the ever mood changing  _Hawkeye_ , had been fooled into allowing the  _Black Widow_ into SHIELD. Particularly misogynistic agents, such as Rumlow and Reynolds, who were always eyeing her like she was nothing more than a fuck toy for all the male agents to share. Or Clint's exes. Agent Morse often glared at her, looking at her as if she wasn't sure she was genuine or a masked traitor.

She reached Fury's office and knocked. A gruff bark, "Come in!" came from the other side of the door. She opened it and stepped in, closing the door behind her. Fury was standing, facing the window, his hands behind his back. She could see her reflection in the window, which she was sure, Fury always made possible because of only having one good eye.

"Sir, you wanted to see me," she greeted, posing the phrase as a question.

"Yes. Agent Romanoff," he replied, turning around to face her. "You have been awarded a temporary level three access badge. You are still under a probationary period, but the Council acknowledge that you have abilities which would be best suited for more vigorous training. I'm sure Agent Hill has already informed you of your new training terms."

"Yes, Sir, she has," Natasha replied.

"Good. Find Barton. You have to do a week of training with him. Or May. At least seven types of training a day. Then you will be sent on a level three mission. Depending on how well Barton praises your training. As he is your official S.O."

Natasha nodded. "Anything else, Sir?"

Fury nodded. "Are you sleeping with Agent Barton?"

She could have growled. Why was everyone convinced she was sleeping with Clint? Sure, he was an attractive man. Not perfect but very attractive. Did the other agents really think so lowly of their best sniper? She didn't care what they thought of her, but she owed Clint her life. She didn't think he deserved such narrow-minded comments about his actions.

"No, Sir. Agent Barton and I have a strictly professional relationship. Is it somewhat friendly? Yes. As in the way that Clint cares for me as any person with humanity as their conscious would care for another. That's it. I don't understand how you, as Director, could stoop so low as to listen to jealous gossip," she replied, keeping her tone calm and level.

Fury nodded. "That's all I needed, Romanoff. On file. Personally, I don't think either of you would risk any sort of relationship this early. As long as it's after your six-month probation, any relationship you have with Barton is strictly your own business. Unless it puts you in a compromising position in the field."

Natasha assumed it was her day for raising her eyebrow at her superior officers. "Sir, is that your subtle way of telling me that if Barton and I can keep from sexual relationship with each other for another three months, we're allowed to have a relationship with each other?"

Fury smirked. "And this is what Phil was afraid of; you're started to sound like Barton when he's in a humorous mood."

Natasha replied with her own smirk. "Agent May commented, on file, that Barton and I have similar personalities in that our sense of humour is very similar."

Fury shook his head. "I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing," he commented. "That's all for now, Agent. As for the rumours, Agent Hill is dealing with them. I'm sure you'd be interested to know she, too, doesn't believe in the rumours of yourself and Agent Barton."

Natasha sighed internally. She had one more agent on her side. "Thank you, Sir. I will find Agent Barton to begin training." When he nodded and told her she was dismissed, she left the office to look for Clint...

* * *

 She made her way to the shooting range, finding Clint shouting orders at newbies. There were several who showed promise at handling guns, others who would be suited for something as far away from shooting as possible.

She saw Clint bring his left hand up to his nose, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Stop!" he shouted, making several agents jump in fright. "I don't know who taught you idiots to shoot. I want you to clean your guns. And get to know them. Leave ammunition in the store room. But take the guns back to your quarters and clean them. Learn every part backways. Training tomorrow, at the same time." The agents scattered as he shouted they were dismissed.

When it was only Clint left, Natasha left her hidimg spot. "Are you always that harsh with newbies?" she asked, smirking when Clint turned to look at her.

"Only when they think they shouldn't listen. Aren't you supposed to be in basic training?" he relied, leaning against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Fury convinced the Council to reduce the restrictions on my probationary period. I'm a Level Three agent now. As my S.O. you have to train me," she replied, making it Clint's turn to smirk.

"What type of training to I have to put you through?" he asked, grinning as he picked up his gun. He, quickly and efficiently, took it apart, checking the parts before putting it back together. Natasha had noticed that, when not on missions, Barton preferred having something to do to keep from getting bored. Usually, taking his equipment apart before putting it back together.

"Fury didn't say anything specific only that I was to, and I quote, 'At least seven types of training a day'," she replied, watching Clint pause in thought. His grey eyes took a determined look before he smirked.

"Then we better get started," he replied…


End file.
